


Bloodbath

by FlannelGuy51



Category: The X-Files
Genre: (it’s just our boy on shark week though), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Dana Scully is Amazing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fox Mulder Angst, Fox Mulder Gets a Hug, Fox Mulder Needs a Hug, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Trans Character, Trans Fox Mulder, Trans Male Character, Walter Skinner is Their Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlannelGuy51/pseuds/FlannelGuy51
Summary: It’s as if the entire world has it out for Fox Mulder. Maybe Scully can help steady him, if he lets her.OR: Shark week hits Mulder like a truck and a very bad day ensues.
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26
Collections: Trans Mulder Literary Universe





	Bloodbath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salvabon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvabon/gifts).



> Hello! I took a quick break from my trans Byers fic to bring you this one! Partially inspired by @salvabon’s Euphemisms and also just written because I’m having a dysphoric day and it helps to have Mulder go through the same thing. Enjoy! Mack, I hope you like this gift back after yesterday’s :)
> 
> NOTE: This takes place in the Trans Mulder Literary Universe sometime after @salvabon’s “pale green things”. That means that Samantha is alive and well and she is here! For real!
> 
> TW: Intense gender dysphoria and mentions of blood

Mulder awoke from a, for once, very restful sleep. He had had none of his usual nightmares—they’d lessened more and more ever since Samantha had returned. He sat up and stretched. He still couldn’t quite get used to the elation he felt at his now-flat chest. There was no jiggle, no instant dysphoria the second he moved a muscle. It was wonderful. Mulder was finally,  _ finally  _ at home in his own body.

And then he felt it.

A telltale wetness on his thighs made his heart leap into his throat. No, no, it was probably nothing. Just some ghost feeling, a fear so ingrained in his body that he was imagining things. Gently, Mulder pulled himself out of bed and pulled the covers back. The sheets were stained red.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered to himself, tears forming in his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t the first time he’d had his period since starting testosterone; it cropped up every once in a while, like a reminder that he wasn’t who he said he was, he wasn’t born who he was supposed to be. There was no way to anticipate it and no way to stop it—he’d harassed his doctor about it more times than he could count. Even with the knowledge that it could happen to him at any time, Mulder could hardly stand it when it did.

Mechanically, Mulder stripped the sheets from his bed—the one Scully had forced him to use—and threw them in some distant corner of the room. As he started to walk to the bathroom, nausea flew through his body like a sucker punch to his stomach. He felt like he was going to throw up. That could only mean one thing—cramps were on their way.

Mulder slowly went to his closet and pulled out what he needed for work: undershirt, new boxers, dress shirt, suit jacket, slacks, black socks, tie. He almost pulled out a binder before he remembered. He smiled a little in spite of himself.  _ Small blessings.  _ Another wave of nausea rolled over him and his smile was forgotten.

Mulder rubbed his hands over his eyes as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he whispered over and over again, a mantra. Mulder hated how much he cried almost as much as he hated his body. Even back when his parents knew him as a girl, his father would yell at him for crying. The more he screamed, the more Mulder seemed to do it. He’d been sure testosterone would make it stop, but he was still crying just as much as ever.

“Some people are just cryers,” his doctor had told him. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Mulder wished he felt the same way.

Once in the bathroom, Mulder flicked off the lights. It was an old habit more than anything—his bottom dysphoria wasn’t terrible on the daily, and now that he’d had top surgery, he could look at himself with pride. Today wasn’t one of those days, though. Today he wanted to curl up in a blanket and forget he existed. Unfortunately, he had to go to work, seeing as how he was already on probation for going after some case that Skinner definitely  _ hadn’t  _ signed off on. Agents on probation didn’t get sick days, and for once, Mulder was wishing he’d just listened to the AD.

The hot water on his skin was both a shock and a relief. Mulder remembered when puberty had started, when he’d started to shower with the water so hot it was boiling. His mother had noticed, yelling at him for fogging up all the mirrors every time he washed. Mulder has simply shrugged and apologized. The shower was a place where he could fall away from his body in the darkness and the hot water helped. He could just imagine he didn’t have a girl’s body, like the heat on his skin was melting away everything he despised.

When he finished, he toweled off and got dressed quickly. He wanted to arrive at the office before Scully, give himself a minute to compose himself before facing his partner. He hadn’t told her yet that he still got his period. It wasn’t out of fear at her potential disgust—after she’d gone home with him to meet his parents that night Samantha had returned, Mulder had realized that Scully would support him no matter what. Nothing about his body, past or present, would disgust her. No, this wasn’t fear, but embarrassment. Still having his period made Mulder feel weak, inadequate. It was like the whole universe was screaming just to tell him that he wasn’t man enough for anyone. Everything felt wrong on days like these, and Mulder could hardly stand to look at himself. He didn’t want Scully to know because he didn’t want her to see his shortcomings. He wasn’t a real man, and he hoped against hope she would never think the same.

_ Men don’t get periods,  _ Mulder thought to himself, swallowing an ibuprofen with a glass of water. He’d long since forgotten who it was that had first shot that at him—was it his mother? His father? Perhaps Phoebe Green? It didn’t matter now, though; Mulder had long since accepted it as an ugly truth.

The drive to work was a nightmare. A crash had happened just a few blocks from Mulder’s apartment building, so he was forced to reroute. The traffic was worse that way, and his usually speedy commute took nearly double time. Mulder cursed as he pulled into the FBI parking garage and checked his watch. There was no way Scully wasn’t here yet.

Mulder grabbed his briefcase and walked into the building. He made eye contact with no one as he went. It felt as though everyone was staring at him, as if everyone knew his dirty little secret. Was he walking strangely? Did he look different? Was his face more feminine today? Logic told him that no one cared what he was doing, that the lingering stares were just because he was Spooky Mulder and not because he was trans. The dysphoria already roiling in his stomach told him a very different story.

Mulder reached the basement office he shared with Scully and paused before the door. It was bad enough that he had to be at work while this was happening, but with Scully? He’d gotten lucky the past couple times—it had hit on a weekend, she’d been working at Quantico, he could call in sick. This time, there was no escaping it. He was going to have to try to act normal, or else tell Scully the one thing he really didn’t want her to know. Mulder took a steadying breath and opened the door.

“I was starting to get worried.” Scully sat behind the desk, round glasses on and a small smile adorning her face.

Mulder couldn’t help but smile, butterflies flapping around his stomach at how beautiful she looked. Scully always looked beautiful, but something about those glasses… “I’m only half an hour late.”

“True, but this wouldn’t be the first time you skipped a disciplinary meeting.”

Mulder’s stomach dropped. “A what?”

“A disciplinary meeting,” Scully repeated for him, sipping her coffee. “Skinner’s called us in to talk to us about that last case. The one you’re on probation for?”

Mulder didn’t say anything. He felt dizzy. He had to talk to Skinner?  _ Today?  _ Blood was rushing through his ears and he felt nauseous all over again.

“Mulder, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“I forgot,” Mulder choked out. He tried to plaster on a smile, but Scully wasn’t buying it.

She raised an eyebrow at him, setting her coffee back on the table. “Mulder, are you alright?”

_ Fuck,  _ Mulder thought, his heart hammering in his chest. “Aside from the ridiculous traffic on the way to work and the intense chewing out I’m going to receive—for the  _ second  _ time—I would say I’m perfectly fine.”

Scully seemed to relax a bit at his quip. Maybe he was sounding like himself again? Mulder didn’t know what was going through Scully’s brain, and he didn’t really care so long as she didn’t find out that he was bleeding like crazy. As he stepped forward towards the desk, another gush of blood hit the pad in his underwear. Mulder did his best not to moan in utter misery.

“Coffee?” Scully asked, holding out the cappuccino she got for Mulder each day on her way to work. He’d never offered to return the favor, something he mentally kicked himself for every single morning. Whenever he decided to do it, he always forgot immediately after. Mulder was terrible at remembering those kinds of things. He hoped Scully didn’t hate him for it.

“No, thanks,” Mulder replied without even thinking about it. Coffee and cramps didn’t mix well. Suddenly, he realized how strange that sounded. Scully got him coffee  _ every day _ and he drank it  _ every day.  _ The fear he’d felt so strongly moments before was quickly replaced by a burning frustration. Why the fuck was everything going so badly?

“You don’t want your coffee?” Scully asked, suspicion in her voice. “Mulder, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m  _ fine!  _ Now would you just  _ stop  _ asking me all these questions?!” Mulder shouted. The second the words had left his mouth, he wanted nothing more than to take them back.

A stark silence fell between them, and Mulder felt as if a million rubber bands were squeezing around his head. Scully’s mouth was open slightly, shocked. He hated himself.

“God, I’m sorry,” Mulder said quietly, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” It was a lie, but it was more palatable than the truth. “Thank you, anyway.”

Scully just nodded, and they got to work in silence. Mulder could hardly focus on the paperwork in front of him at all. Half of it wasn’t even necessary, at least according to Bureau standards. He knew it was just another way for Skinner to punish him for his insolence, and that did nothing to quell the anger already mounting inside of him. The dysphoria Mulder had hardly felt in weeks was back thanks to shark week, and he was feeling it full force. His entire body itched, as if goading him to scratch his skin off. He couldn’t sit still, his leg bouncing up and down as if trying to extinguish that feeling that bugs were crawling all over him. With every bounce, though, Mulder felt the squish of blood between his legs. It was one endless, frustrating, terrifying cycle, and he just couldn’t deal with it today.

Just as he was almost finishing a dull report, the computer froze. Mulder stared at it for a moment before smacking the keyboard.

“God _ damnit!”  _ Mulder screamed, standing up and kicking his shoe against the floor. He knew it was childish and stupid, and Scully was right there, but he just couldn’t hold it in anymore. The world was playing a cruel prank on him, and he wanted it to be over.

“What’s wrong?” Scully asked, concern spreading across her features.

“This fucking computer,” Mulder muttered. “I was almost done with Skinner’s bullshit report and it froze and now I might have to start all over again!”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The question made Mulder even more angry. “What the fuck are you gonna do?! It’s a computer, Scully, and a shitty one at that! How the hell would you fix it?!” 

His voice had risen louder than he’d meant for it to, and with it, his voice had gotten higher. He just about clamped a hand over his mouth as a fresh wave of dysphoria rolled through him. Mulder’s voice played over and over again in his head like nails on a chalkboard. He wanted to run away, but he could never escape his own mind. His heart panged at Scully’s expression. He wanted— _ needed _ —to apologize, but there was no way in hell he was going to speak again. He couldn’t stand his voice, not right now.

Mulder tried to read Scully’s face, the sadness there. She probably hated him. She had every right to; he was the biggest jerk he’d ever met. All he’d done today was yell at her while all she’d done was be nice to him, and she was probably gonna leave any minute and tell Skinner that he was unstable and—

“Have you eaten anything today?” Scully asked.

Mulder just about started crying. After everything he’d just said and done, she wanted to know if he’d  _ eaten  _ today? He didn’t deserve her. Slowly, Mulder shook his head.

Scully stood and walked over to him, meeting his eyes and smiling softly. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Mulder released a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go get you some breakfast,” Scully said, “and then we’re gonna sit down and talk about what’s bothering you. Okay?”

Mulder nodded, trying to give her a smile back.  _ What in the world did I do to deserve her? _

Scully walked over to the door, but just as she was about to open it, someone else did. A young agent peered into the cramped basement office. His eyes drifted around the room, from the poster on the wall to the messy desk and finally to the two agents in front of him.

“Um, Assistant Director Skinner is looking for you,” he said. “Something about a meeting?”

“I thought that was at 11:30,” Scully said.

“I guess it got moved up,” the agent replied. To Scully’s glare, he put up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!”

Scully rolled her eyes and put a gentle hand on Mulder’s back. “We’ll eat as soon as this is over, okay?”

Mulder nodded again, and together, they made their way up to Skinner’s office.

In their past two years of working together, Scully had become very good at reading Fox Mulder. To many at the FBI, Mulder was a puzzle. None of them could understand why such a gifted young agent would throw his career away to chase after aliens. At first glance, Mulder seemed every bit like the suave, dark, mysterious danger that her direct superiors had warned Scully that he would be. Now, Scully could read him like a book.

And something was very wrong with him today.

To start off with, Mulder was almost never late to work. He almost always came in early, way  _ too  _ early. Usually by the time Scully stepped in the office, he was already buzzing around, putting the finishing touches on some slideshow or digging through file cabinets for a sixth X-File that discussed exsanguination of a frog via a plastic tube—or something like that.

Besides that, Mulder never seemed to stop talking. It was one of those endearing things that Scully loved about Mulder, the way he could go on and on about a case without hardly pausing to take a breath. Even if they weren’t actively working on a case, like right now, he was usually still blabbing about one thing or another. Whenever he got really invested in a report or a case file, he would go quiet, so focused that he hardly even seemed to hear Scully when she looked up from her computer to ask a question. But he was  _ never  _ silent when Skinner assigned him some kind of busywork punishment assignment. That Scully knew for a fact.

The last strange thing was that Mulder was not an overly aggressive person. He would get angry sometimes, even at her when they fought about the conspiracy or a case or whatever else would get between them, but he never lashed out without cause. After learning more about Bill Mulder from Samantha (they’d met a few times for coffee at Samantha’s request and then Scully had suggested they make it a regular thing), Scully understood why—Mulder didn’t want to be anything like his father. Mulder’s anger was usually inverted on himself, something Scully was gradually trying to change.

Today, Mulder had exhibited the opposite of everything Scully expected of him. There was only one thing Scully thought it could be: Mulder was having a terrible dysphoria day. The weird thing was that Mulder’s dysphoria had been much better lately. Scully could tell in the way he carried himself, the way he stood up straight and smiled a bit more, how he’d started wearing different clothes around his house when she stopped by. Mulder had even told her himself how top surgery had him feeling better than ever. So what could possibly be so awful that Mulder was acting out more than she’d ever seen him?

Just as soon as Scully had formulated a plan to help her partner, however, some green agent had interfered to tell her that Skinner had moved the meeting up. Against all she knew to be true, she could only think one thing:  _ that bastard. _

That’s how Scully had ended up walking with Mulder up to the AD’s office, perhaps a little closer to his side than necessary. She didn’t miss the tension in his body, the way he looked left and right as if everyone was staring at him. Scully wanted to stop him, to affirm him and tell him that he was passing and he looked handsome, but there was no time. Besides, she didn’t want to set Mulder off by accident and doom his career; Mulder’s temper regarding authority figures was not something to be trifled with.

Scully settled on rubbing her hand up and down his back as they stood in Skinner’s waiting room. Mulder looked over at her gratefully. It didn’t take long before their boss poked his head out to stare at them.

“Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?” Skinner said.

Scully nodded, and the two agents in question entered Skinner’s office and sat down.

“Alright,” Skinner began, flipping through a few files and finally stopping on one and opening it. “So, this meeting is in regards to your most recent case, one that I did  _ not  _ approve. According to our last meeting, in which the initial consequences of his actions were explained, Agent Mulder told me that he had been going after a...werewolf. Is that correct, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder just nodded.

“You took an FBI vehicle, harassed local police officers, and stalked a nineteen-year-old boy whom you suspected to be a creature of the night before Agent Scully caught up with you. At our last meeting, you said you did not regret any of your actions and would…” Skinner looked down at the file. “‘...happily do the same thing again.’ Do you have anything to say for yourself  _ this  _ time around, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder grit his teeth and mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“A creature of the night is a vampire, sir, not a werewolf,” Mulder said testily.

Scully tried not to groan.

Skinner threw down the file and met his wayward agent’s eyes. “Is this a joke to you, Agent Mulder?”

“The paperwork you’ve assigned me for it is!” Mulder fired back. Suddenly, he moaned, doubling over. Scully and Skinner both looked at him with concern.

Skinner paused before he spoke again, trying to regain his cold demeanor. “Do you understand how serious this is?” he said. “If the family of Tony Lambert chooses to press charges, we could all lose our jobs!”

“Tony Lambert killed those people!” Mulder yelled. “He’ll do it again if you don’t listen to what I have to say!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Skinner said, standing up. “As of right now, I’m extending your probation until the end of next month. You put even a  _ toe  _ out of line, and there will be major consequences.”

“See if I care!” Before Scully could stop him, Mulder was standing, throwing files off of Skinner’s desk. “If you need me, I’ll be in the basement, doing your  _ bullshit  _ little assignments!” He flew out of the room, wincing the tiniest bit, and Skinner looked after him, mouth agape.

Scully looked down at Mulder’s chair and her eyes widened. Her stomach dropped and she sighed softly. Blood.

_ Oh, Mulder,  _ Scully thought sadly.

“Agent Scully,” Skinner said, turning to the agent still in the room, “if Agent Mulder doesn’t get his act together soon, I’ll have no choice but to—”

“Sir, if I may,” Scully cut in. “Agent Mulder is not feeling well. He wouldn’t have come in today at all if it weren’t for the probation, which tells me it must be rather serious. I know it’s against protocol, but…perhaps could he spend the rest of the day at home? Since his probation extension begins, I assume, tomorrow?”

Skinner gave Scully a hard look. She could see the gears spinning in his head, and despite the facade he was trying so hard to maintain, Scully knew the truth: he was just as worried about Mulder as she was.

“Well, Agent Scully,” Skinner said, reorganizing some of the files on his desk, “if Agent Mulder is really that ill, it would be irresponsible of me as your direct superior to let him stay. He could infect other agents, that sort of thing.” He gave her a knowing look and she nodded.

“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.” 

She discreetly wiped the blood off of Mulder’s chair and stood. Her hand was on the door when Skinner spoke.

“Agent Scully?”

Scully looked back at him and saw the regret on his face.

“Take good care of him.”

It was only a minute after Mulder had reached the basement office that he realized he’d bled through his pants. He knew logically that no one had seen it as he walked down the hall, that his pants were dark and hid any stain that could possibly threaten to show through. Even so, Mulder started to panic. He went to the far corner of the office and opened a drawer, pulling out the emergency box of pads he kept at the office just for this reason. If only he’d thought to hide emergency pants.

After he changed in the bathroom, Mulder sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. He blew it. His cramps had hit him in the middle of the meaning (stupid worthless ibuprofen) and he’d lost all control. A month and a half of probation was as good as a death sentence for an agent like him. In all likelihood, the X-Files would be shut down again and him and Scully would be separated. Scully, the best thing that had ever happened to him next to Samantha’s return.

_ I don’t deserve her anyway,  _ Mulder thought miserably. The thought of Scully’s impending disappointment at his outburst was what broke him. Mulder started to sob, lying down on the desk, shoulders shaking. Everything was so, so wrong. The stars had aligned to make this one of the worst days he’d ever had, so bad it might destroy his life’s work and alienate his best friend. And it was all because of him, a grown man that couldn’t even control his own body. He felt like such an impostor, such a waste of space, a—

Mulder jumped as a hand landed on his back. He jerked his head up, and there was Scully, watching him sadly. In her hand she held a few chocolate bars. Mulder did his best to collect himself, but sobs were still wracking his entire body.

“Scully,” Mulder said, voice breaking, “I’m so sorry, so s—”

Scully wrapped him tightly in a hug and he clung to her as if she was the only thing he had left to hold on to. In that moment, it felt like she was.

“Mulder, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Scully said, running her hand through his hair the way she knew made him calm. “I can tell this has been a hard day for you.”

Mulder just cried, holding her even tighter. Somehow, Scully always understood him. He’d never met anyone that could understand him quite as well as she could.

When he finally calmed down, he let go of her. Scully didn’t stop running her hand through his hair and simply handed Mulder a chocolate bar. He opened it and ate it quickly, smiling a little at her.

“Thank you,” Mulder said.

“Any time,” Scully replied.

“So, um, it’s shark week.” He’d said it. A weight fell off his shoulders. She knew now, and she would always know. There was a strange comfort in that.

Scully just nodded. “Chocolate is good for that.”

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but Scully spoke first.

“I think men that go through this kind of thing are tougher than the ones that don’t.”

Mulder laughed. “Scully—”

“Don’t try to argue with me, Mulder!” Scully pointed a finger at him. “Doctors agree that cramps are way more painful than getting hit in the balls. Some are even comparable to heart attacks!”

“I was just going to ask you how you always know exactly what insecurity I’m going to reveal next,” Mulder said, grinning. “More painful than a kick to the nads, really? Now I feel like I should be complaining  _ way  _ more.”

Scully laughed and ruffled his hair one last time before walking to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“What are you talking about?” Mulder asked, tossing his candy bar wrapper in the trash. “I’m on probation, remember? Skinner’ll have my ass if we even  _ think  _ about ditching.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Scully said, smiling. “Assistant Director Skinner has given you permission to go home and rest for the remainder of the day.”

That caught Mulder off guard. He just stared at his partner for a moment, in utter awe that any of this was really happening. He finally voiced what he had been thinking all day: “I don’t deserve you, Dana Scully.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve saved my life more times than I can count and now you’re feeling inadequate over some bars of chocolate? Maybe you’re not as tough as I thought.”

Mulder laughed and felt his worries rapidly disappearing. Scully wanted him around, and nothing was going to change that. He couldn’t understand it, not for the life of him, but it made his heart soar. If Dana Scully thought he wasn’t a waste of space, thought he was a real man and a tough one at that, then maybe he wasn’t worthless. Not at all.

“Alright, alright.” Mulder conceded. He cleared his throat. “Would you mind, um…coming home with me to watch a movie? I don’t really want to be alone today.”

Scully gave him a full smile and walked back over to him, grabbing his hand. “Only if there’s popcorn.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the fluffy end! Yay! Thanks for getting this far, stay tuned for more trans X-Files stuff!


End file.
